


Gambler's Fate

by xFujimoto



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Established Relationship, Gambling, M/M, Post-Series, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8097034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xFujimoto/pseuds/xFujimoto
Summary: Marco decides to give gambling a shot with a couple of Clifford's acquaintances. As the evening progresses, he starts to wonder whether or not it was the best decision.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Co-captains this pairing with my boyfriend, this fic is for him.
> 
>  
> 
> [rating may go up in future chapters]

Having been overly cautious about the drinks he had been consuming throughout the night– sticking to cola religiously, only cracking open the glass bottles himself– Marco wasn't worried about the company he had been with for the evening attempting to do something devious to his drinks. So he cooly picks up the crisp bottle resting near his right hand, tipping his head back slightly as the refreshing drink slips down his throat after a satisfying swallow.

Something else, something alcoholic, would've been nice, but of course Marco was content with the endless supply of colas. Besides, he didn't want his focus or thoughts to be altered in any way. He wouldn't exactly say he trusted the individuals around him, although he had no reason to distrust them either. Staying at a comfortable position in the middle was just fine for now.

Another large stack of chips is pushed slowly across the table, and as Marco stares at it briefly, rather pleased with his success, he catches a sour look directed his way from one of the men sitting nearby. Something feels wrong about it, and reaching his hands over the tabletop in order to pull the chips closer to him, the hairs at the back of Marco's neck bristle.

_ That- ...isn't...good, I'd say...mm... Feeling a touch sour over the repeated losses? Or perhaps... _

In a smooth attempt to keep anything from showing on his face, Marco pulls the cola closer to him again, taking a long, slow drink before neatly setting it back in its place. He leans back in the smooth-backed chair, flashing a smile across the table to the host. "Interested in another round?"

He was a large broad shouldered man, an American with dark brown hair, perhaps in his early thirties, sharply dressed in a fine suit. It wasn't the most fashionable Marco had seen, but he had respect for the man's taste nonetheless. The host– _ Bailey, was his name?– _ had been rather quiet the entire evening. Marco couldn't recall more than a few words coming from him, and supplied with the fact that he and Clifford knew each other in some manner, he wasn't entirely surprised.

Receiving no answer to his question other than a grimace from the man to his right, Marco has to suppress the urge to fidget in his seat. Still trying to keep up his relaxed appearance, he draws in a small breath, exhaling calmly before speaking up again. "How exactly do you know Clifford? ...I'm afraid it slipped my mind to ask earlier."

Someone enters the room, and the sudden presence is enough to draw Marco's attention away from the host for a fraction of a second. An imposing figure, even larger than Bailey, Marco figures, the man closes the door behind him rather quietly. Despite this, with how quiet the room had settled into over the past few minutes, the sound of the lock clicking securely into place was uncomfortably loud.

_ Ah...? _

Unable to keep as calm of a composure, Marco inches forward on the seat, directing his attention to the host again, clearing his throat. "So...how is it? That you know Clifford, I mean." He rests his hands on the edge of the table, folding them neatly, the brief but firm action pulling some control back to his senses, grounding him a little better.

"He's taken a lot of money from me."

Marco swallows hard, the overwhelming need to take a deep breath difficult to mask. Breath hitching, he pulls his hands away from the table, itching to adjust the tie that felt unbearably tight around his neck suddenly. Instead, he presses them to his legs, figuring it wasn't as nervous an action if someone were to notice.

Not that he really thought it mattered at this point.

In spite of this, Marco persists, hoping he'd feel more in control of the situation if he spoke more. "I've never known Clifford to–"

"You know, I brought you here tonight because I thought it'd be amusing to take your money to get back at him," Bailey's voice was low, tone relaxed, "But then you ended up doing  _ well. _ "

Swallowing again, fidgeting slightly, Marco can't help but break eye contact, casting his gaze down to the edge of the table. His vision blurs for a moment as he's unable to focus, and a subtle movement from Bailey across the table goes unnoticed.

Bailey sighs, a refined sharpness to his words that Marco found excruciatingly familiar. "I was annoyed with Clifford for snatching away my money, but after your performance tonight, now... Now I'm just downright irritated." 

_Sounds just like Clifford when he's...unhappy._ Marco didn't have anything else to say. The tension in the room had escalated to something more than he could bear, any confidence that he could speak without a stuttering hesitation was gone. The tips of his fingers curl, pressing into his thighs – the only thing Marco felt he had any control over anymore. It wasn't as grounding as he had hoped. For a moment, he briefly wonders how Clifford maintains such control in these situations. 

"You have a phone, don’t you?"

Not lifting his gaze from the blurred edge of the table, Marco offers a small, quick nod, "Yes."

Large hands settle on Marco's arms, his chair being pulled out and away from the table. His head snaps up and he exclaims quietly, craning his neck to look up at the two men whose hands were holding his arms tightly now. "Wh- What are you doing? H-hah, this doesn't- ...this doesn't seem necessary..."

Marco turns back towards Bailey, faint, shaky breaths passing through slightly parted lips. It's hard to focus. He can't. Vision blurring and then refocusing. The host stares back at him calmly though, relaxed as ever, leaning against the arm of his chair comfortably. "I think you should take that phone out. You're going to call Clifford for me–I can't be bothered."

Not about to defy Bailey, Marco had already started to move to pull out his phone when the two men holding his arms tighten their grips, and he bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. A slightly trembling hand lifting his phone enough to flash the screen towards Bailey, he nods, taking in a sharp breath, trying to offer up even the faintest smile.

"Should I...? Call...?" Marco's voice didn't sound like his own, the words coming from his mouth tasting foreign on the tip of his tongue. His gaze lowers for a brief moment, falling away to focus on anything but the imposing man sitting across the table.

The response Bailey gives is short, but his voice is lifted compared to before. "Yes."

__ He sounds...happy? Ah... that's-  
  
Marco looks up, feeling better than even a moment ago. His shoulders relax–as much as they're allowed while still being held so tightly-and he lets out a deep breath, slowly, a little warmth returning to his face.  __ Much better...

Bailey smiles.

_...that's good._ _..right? _

"What do you want me to say?" Marco pulls up Clifford's number, finger hovering over the call button. He makes note of the time; it was shortly after one in the morning. He doesn't worry though. Even on the off chance that Clifford was asleep already, he'd wake up to answer his phone. He always did. 

Making eye contact with Bailey again has Marco questioning the brief moment of relaxation. Before he's able to decide whether or not the pleased expression on Bailey's face is actually a good sign, the host shifts in his seat, seeming to settle in even more comfortably.

"Wait a moment."

It didn't seem as though the command warranted any response,  so Marco stays quiet, letting the phone slip in his loose grip, catching it with a small jerk of his wrist.

Unbearably aware of how silent the room was, he keeps his focus on Bailey, blinking slowly, trying to avoid it entirely if possible. He feels hyperaware of everything, catching the smallest movements out of the corners of his eyes, unnerved by the eerily steady breathing coming from the two men holding him in his seat.

Allowing himself to look away from Bailey, Marco wonders what they were waiting for, and he glances towards the door. Maybe someone else was going to be joining them, although that didn't seem likely. No one was moving, nor did they look like they were about to speak, and it was making him feel increasingly more unsettled. 

There's a small movement to his right, and Marco's surprised when the man gripping his arm loosens his hold. It's reassuring–whatever it meant, and he looks back at Bailey in time to see him give a small nod.

_ Hm? What's that– _

The sickening sound of something cracking taints the otherwise silent room, and Marco doesn't understand at first why the sound bothers him so much. The rush of pain that quickly follows clears away the confusion, and Marco crumbles. An attempt to pull his left arm free is unsuccessful in thanks to the tight grip still around it, and the overwhelming need to pull his right arm against his body is denied. He shakily turns to look down at it though, quiet, trembling breaths being torn from his throat.

Blinking away the first few tears, vision blurring too much for him to maintain any focus on his broken arm, Marco's barely able to comprehend the drowned out voice of Bailey speaking to him as fear starts to flood over the rest of his senses.

"You can call now."


End file.
